


I disappear, I lost control (my body's moving, all on it's own)

by TheDandyRascal



Series: SWTOR oneshots: early game [1]
Category: Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic (Video Game)
Genre: Finding each other again, Imperial Agent Storyline Spoilers, M/M, Reunion, Sith Warrior Storyline Spoilers, Songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-17
Updated: 2021-01-17
Packaged: 2021-03-15 21:47:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28820208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheDandyRascal/pseuds/TheDandyRascal
Summary: On Nar Shaddaa to track down a terrorist cell, Cipher Agent Alton Huxley keeps seeing a ghost everywhere he turns.Spoilers for Imperial Agent and Sith Warrior storylines
Relationships: Male Imperial Agent | Cipher Nine/Male Sith Warrior
Series: SWTOR oneshots: early game [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2112813
Kudos: 8





	1. Unexpected Reunion

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the song "I Disappear" by the Faint, this was originally written back in 2016.
> 
> Imperial Agent character is Alton Huxley, or Hux for short.

**Nar Shaddaa**

Alton Huxley is cutting through a filthy back alley in the heart of Bleeder territory when he catches a glimpse of someone long dead. He freezes in his tracks, squinting his eyes in a vain attempt to make out any recognizable detail from the man’s profile, but the stranger’s features are lost in the voluminous hood of his cloak. An unwelcome surge of adrenaline shivers down his spine and for a brief moment Hux can’t breathe; then he feels a nudge at the small of his back from the butt of Kaliyo’s rifle and the feeling passes.

“Sorry,” he murmurs. “Thought I saw something.” Hux reaches down to grip the hilt of his vibroblade tightly -- using the familiar feeling to ground himself enough to refocus his attention -- and they continue on with their mission.

  
  
  


It happens again just after what passes for dusk on this terrible moon of constant nightlife. They’re heading back to Shadow Town to report back to Watcher X when Hux falters as he descends the stairs outside the speeder taxi platform. There’s  _ that _ _man_ again. Across the concourse the stranger’s hood is pushed back far enough to make out the bold curve of his jaw, the sharp line of his nose. Though his stature is small beneath his voluminous robes, he’s easily intimidating a junior security officer while a bored looking Twi’lek girl lounges against a ferrocrete barrier, cleaning her sharp nails with a pocket knife. 

Drawing in a sharp breath, Hux quickly steps backwards out of the pool of harsh light from the overhead street lamps and blends into a shadow. Kaliyo is still up on the taxi platform haggling with a stim vendor just out of sight, so Hux has the luxury of a brief moment to panic. His pulse races and his limbs feel sluggish as he loses control of his sympathetic nervous system; Hux couldn’t have moved if a bantha were barrelling toward him.

Surely this means he’s going _ mad _ . 

Lack of sleep. Perhaps the dregs of that foul brew Watcher X had concocted earlier. Because there is no rational explanation for why he keeps seeing a literal ghost.

And just as suddenly as the moment coalesced it disappears when the short man breaks off from his conversation and spins on his heel to stalk back towards the transport station. In that flash of aggressive movement all resemblance vanishes. The hooded man has a large, dark tattoo covering the side of his face, twisted up in a savage snarl. His stalking fury, the heavy robe, the glimpse of armour… it isn’t who Hux thinks it is.

_ He _ wasn’t like that.  _ He _ was all measured efficiency and carefully hidden emotions, his posture straight without being rigid, his calculating gaze always scanning the environment.  _ He _ would never march off in a blind rage.

This angry robed man is merely a Sith who resembles _his_ small, compact shape. 

Hux breathes out a long sigh, grateful that he isn’t going crazy. Clinging to that reality he forces himself to leave his little alcove and walk quickly in the opposite direction towards the prison. Kaliyo could catch up later; he has an appointment to keep, a job to do. He doesn’t have time for ghosts.

  
  


In his determination to escape, Hux misses the Twi’lek murmuring to the hooded man. So focused on his retreat, he doesn’t feel the weight of the man’s gaze studying him curiously as he walks away.

* * *

It’s well into the night cycle by the time Hux and Kaliyo leave the prison. Frustration with the state of the mission, Watcher X’s aggravating behaviour, and the lingering exhaustion from his near miss panic attack earlier leaves Hux with an overwhelming urge to crawl into bed.

“Where to, boss?” Kaliyo nods her head towards the taxi stand.

Hux combs his fingers back through his hair and sighs. “The ship. I’m sure our activities this afternoon have put the Eagle’s compatriots on high alert, so it would be best to retreat until tomorrow. I need to draft a report for Keeper anyway.”

She snorts a laugh and rolls her eyes. “What an exciting night on Nar Shaddaa. Hundreds of cantinas and dens of ill-repute, and we’re doing paperwork and cleaning blasters.”

Ignoring her comment, Hux heads for the speeder.

  
  


He takes a hot shower when they get back to the  _ Phantom _ , dropping his head against his folded arms so the high pressure spray beats against the tense muscles in his neck. Water showers are a luxury he only lets himself have when in port, even then it’s a brief one. Hux closes his eyes and takes a moment to let the wall hold his weight; he’s exhausted, it's no wonder his mind had been all over the place today. Since gaining his status as Cipher Nine Hux hasn’t had a moment of peace. Chasing the Eagle all over the galaxy as Keeper’s newest bloodhound doesn't afford the luxury of spare time.

Clean and dressed in casual clothes Hux takes his armful of datapads into the galley. His own quarters are comfortable but the desk is small and the lighting too dim to keep his attention focused while this tired. The large galley table and bright overhead lights will have to do for now. Hux sits down heavily on the moulded plastic bench seat and slides himself into a corner with his back against the sturdy wall. 

Familiar surroundings, familiar work. It takes mere minutes for him to put aside the day.

  
  


* * *

In spite of her sarcastic response early, Kaliyo had taken the time to clean and check all of their equipment when they’d come back to the ship. There isn’t much she lets herself rely on in life, but a fully-functional blaster is one of them. Lately, she’s even started giving  _ minute _ amounts of her trust to the man paying her salary. Imperial Intelligence? No. Agent Huxley? Sure. Despite his ability to wildly change personas -- morphing from a flirtatious space pirate to an uptight Imperial officer as quickly as a Hutt can eat its dinner -- Hux has so far proven himself useful, if not occasionally quite competent. She’s certainly worked with worse partners. Hell, she might even be starting to respect the guy. Just a little though. 

Bored, Kaliyo wanders through the ship and counts all of the surveillance devices. While the  _ Phantom _ resembles a spoiled princeling’s luxury vehicle, it’s still a well-equipped tool of Imperial Intelligence and Keeper’s little children are omnipresent. Pausing in front of a camera embedded into a flask of premium Corellian brandy Kaliyo blows a kiss and flashes a cheeky wink to Watcher Two before heading into the galley.

She rolls her eyes at the stack of Hux’s datapads and moves towards the food processor. “You sure know how to have a good time, Agent.” She says dryly, flipping through the prepared meal options. “You eat yet?”

Hux hums a distracted response. “I had rations earlier.” A crumpled protein bar wrapper sits next to his elbow. 

Kaliyo grimaces at his choice of meal. “I don’t know how you can eat those things. I’d rather lick the table after Nem’ro eats a ten-course meal.”

He still hasn’t bothered to look up from his reports, but makes a prissy face of disgust at her comment. “Charming. When ration bars are all you have for weeks on end, you get used to them.”

After keying in the code for Alderaanian vorn tiger stew Kaliyo sits down across the table from Huxley to wait for her dinner, chin propped on one hand. She stares at him until his eyes flick up to meet hers; he manages to convey half a dozen types of irritation in the quick gaze.  Kaliyo just flashes him a wide smile full of sharp teeth. 

Hux grunts at her and looks back down at his datapad. “What?”

“Nothing.”

He ignores her staring and continues to work.

The processor chimes and Kaliyo gets up to fetch her dinner. Peeling off the protective film, she stirs the piping hot food to let it cool. “So,” she stabs a chunk of glistening meat and blows on it. “What was up with you today?”

Hux makes another noise of frustration and sets his stylus down. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says tartly.

Kaliyo chews on the stringy meat, tucking it into her cheek so she could still talk. “Yeah you do. Early, when we were down on the Promenade. Something was wrong.”

_ The first time he’d seen the ghost. _

He picks up the crumpled ration bar wrapper and smooths it out before folding it into a precise triangle. “Nothing was wrong. I was merely being cautious. There were Bleeders everywhere.”

Kaliyo spears a chunk of tuber root and pops it in her mouth. “Yeah, sure. And I’m the Queen of Corellia. You were acting weird at the prison too.”

Pushing himself up from the table, Huxley lets out an explosive sigh and crosses the galley to throw his wrapper into the recycler. “Of course I was. That place is a  _ cesspool _ of insane beings, including one who we have to rely on to get any answers about the Eagle’s operations here.”

Hux keeps his back to her as he fiddles with the knobs on the recycler. Despite his attempt, the explanation still rings hollow even to his own ears.

Kaliyo hums and keeps eating. “Yeah, okay. Whatever, boss.”

He lets his forehead rest against the cool durasteel cabinet for a moment. “Just tired, is all. It’s been a trying few months,” he murmurs quietly. Then Hux pushes himself away from the counter and heads for the exit. “I’ll be in my quarters. Feel free to leave the ship, just don’t get arrested.”

* * *

Hux has every intention of going to bed, but halfway across the ship he deviates course towards the cargo hold they’d set up as a training room where he pushes himself through a brutal exercise regiment, letting the familiar movements take over his body. At one time in his life he’d done this same routine twice daily; the Imperial naval academy had expected perfection of body and mind, and Hux had performed admirably in both. Now he’s clearly out of practice and exhausted, but he relishes the burn and tremble of his muscles. 

Halfway through his workout the ship’s comm system chimes to let him know Kaliyo has taken his advice to heart and left for the evening in search of something more entertaining than his brooding self. Hux pushes on until he begins to ache in ways that won’t clear up by morning and stops before he hampers himself for tomorrow’s work. Chest heaving, he strips off his shirt to wipe the sweat from his face and neck as he pads barefoot back across the ship to his quarters.

  
  


The lights are off -- which he hadn’t recalled doing -- but the ship often regulates the environment so he doesn’t think anything of it. Letting the door whoosh close behind him Hux dials lights up to 25% and turns to throw his shirt into the hamper across the room… and freezes in place.

A hooded man is sitting on his bed. The Sith he kept seeing all day. Instinct begins to scream as he remembers his brief  _ awful _ interaction with Darth Zhorrid mere days ago; Hux forces himself not to flinch back out of fear.

“Can I help you, my lord?” Hux asks in the most blandly even tone he can muster, suddenly feeling stupid that he’s sweaty and half-naked in front of an unknown Sith. He isn’t even  _ armed _ , as much as that would help right now.

The deep hood slips all the way back as the man stands and straightens the fall of his long, dark robe. It parts enough to display the heavy leather and plate armour beneath. And the glinting hilts of a lightsaber on either hip. 

The panic attack that had threatened Hux earlier begins to rear its ugly head again as he sees the man’s face head on. The resemblance is  _ uncanny _ . “You’re dead,” he mumbles, barely able to hear his own voice over the rush of his pulse. A face he never thought he’d see again is staring back at him. The tattoo is unfamiliar, as are the scars, but the deep brown of his eyes, the sharpness of his cheekbones, the slash of his dark brows.

“Clearly I’m not,” the man responds, his voice deep but quiet in tone, so painfully familiar. His sharp gaze inspects Hux briefly before returning to lock eyes with him again.

Hux doesn’t know what to do with his arms. His hands. His muscles, previously slow and tired from the punishment in the training room, now twitch with a flood of adrenaline. For a split second he’s tempted to bolt from the room, to run from this pain aching in his chest, but he forces the instinct down.

“How is this possible…” Hux trails off, studying the familiar yet different lines of his -- “Jaedin, you were killed during the Antioch massacre. The explosion. No one survived the ambush.” His throat begins to tighten from the unwieldy lump of emotion building in his chest. “You  died .”  _ And left me all alone _ goes unspoken, caught in his throat. 

The smaller man shrugs his shoulders so his robe can slide off and puddle on the floor; he holds his arms out in an open gesture as if to prove he was whole. “I survived.”

The sense of panicked grief-filled disbelief begins to turn into an aching betrayal and Hux is too overwhelmed to do anything about the tears gathering in his eyes. His voice is thick when he manages to find his voice again. “Why didn’t you  _ tell _ me?”

The neutral expression on that strange, tattooed face falters a little, and his mouth -- so fierce now with those deep, white scars bracketing it -- turns down in sorrow. “Alton. I couldn’t. I’m sorry.”

A flush of anger colours Hux’s pale skin, spreading up his neck and across his bare chest. “Jaedin, I was -- I  _ am _ your husband!”

Jaedin turns his face away for a moment, his hands fisting at his sides as he shifts his weight. “It’s complicated, Alton.”

Regained of his limbs, Hux closes the distance between them in a pair of long strides and towers half a head over the smaller man. “Because you’re Sith?” his voice is heavy with pain and disbelief.

Sighing quietly, Jaedin turns his head back but doesn't tip it up to meet Hux’s angry gaze, choosing to stare at his collarbones. “Partially. The Navy left me for dead. I  _ was _ all but dead, like the rest, but I…” his voice falters a little and he clears his throat. “Apparently I had a strong aptitude for the Force laying dormant inside me and nearly dying at Antioch triggered it. I was recovered by the Sith.” Jaedin trails off when Hux’s hand comes up, fingertips lightly touching the tattoo over his right cheekbone, and he clears his throat before continuing. “By the time I recovered from my injuries, the Navy had already declared me dead. If I had contacted you, they would have known I lived. And they would have sentenced me a deserter."

Hux lets his hand drop and his bones suddenly feel too weak to hold his weight. He begins to shiver as dread prickled his spine. “And the Navy would have executed you for desertion...”

He nods gravely. “ Not that it mattered, because I had already been claimed for Korriban." Jaedin pauses for a moment. "Korriban is… an isolated place. It wasn’t until I earned my way off-world as an apprentice that I could even access a holo-terminal. But that took so long you’d already left the Navy and joined Intelligence. Then you disappeared into the depths of Dromund Kaas and it was too dangerous to follow any leads.” 

Jaedin suddenly leans forward and cups his hand against the sharp jut of his husband’s hip, thumb fitting into the hollow of his hipbone like he couldn’t help himself. “My master has kept me on a short leash until recently. I didn’t want to bring his attention to you.”

Drawing in a shuddering breath, Hux’s hand comes up again to cradle the clean line of Jaedin’s jaw. The smaller man sighs and presses against the contact, his dark lashes fluttering closed.

“How did you find me?” Hux murmurs as they sway closer to each other. Jaedin rests the other side of his face against Hux’s chest and they’re suddenly holding each other up.

“Happenstance,” Jaedin mumbles and rubs his nose against the light sprinkle of auburn hair under his cheek. “My slave saw you at the prison today.”

Hux warms at the familiar gesture and curls his other arm around his husband’s shoulders, bending his head down to rest his own cheek against the short, bristly hair above Jaedin’s ear.  “I thought I was going crazy,” he mumbles. “Seeing a dead man all over Nar Shaddaa.”

Strong arms circle Hux’s waist and squeeze a silent apology. They stand locked together for several minutes -- each man lost in his own thoughts -- until Hux lifts his head and leans back to look at Jaedin’s face.

“Do you have anywhere to be?”

Dark eyes study his face for a heartbeat before he shakes his head. “Not until morning.”

“Good. I haven’t… entirely come to terms with all of this yet, but...” Hux bends his head to steal a long awaited kiss. “I’d like you to stay.”

  
  



	2. Unintentional Aftermath

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FYI, there's a brief smutty scene in this chapter.

Jaedin wakes up Hux after a few hours’ rest to murmur a sleepy goodbye, taking a moment to savour the slow kiss before letting his husband drift back to sleep. He watches him for a few moments and wishes he doesn’t have to leave. Three hours together certainly hasn’t made up for three years apart. Pulling away before he grows too maudlin, Jaedin carefully gathers his things from the floor as silently as possible.

Dressing in the dark is a challenge, but his robe will hide any indiscretions until he returns to his ship. Flipping the deep hood up over his head, he pauses for a moment to centre himself before slipping from the room. The interior of the ship is dim and quiet, the perfect atmosphere to slip away unnoticed by Alton’s sleeping employee and the ship’s steward droid.  The hangar is brightly light but virtually deserted at this early hour. Nar Shaddaa’s inhabitants never seem to slow down but even the most dedicated revellers aren’t hanging around this part of the spaceport. 

It’s easy enough for a cloaked man with the power of the Force to steal away unseen into the early morning.

* * *

The soft beep of his chronometer wakes Hux just before dawn on Dromund Kaas and it takes him a few bleary moments to recall where he is. Nar Shaddaa’s rotational cycle is three times longer than the Imperial homeworld's and it's been a jarring adjustment to completely ignore any sense of propriety regarding time of day. Any place worth going is perpetually open; even the dank rat holes in the bowels of the Corellian Sector seem to always have the lights on. Still, it's a strange sensation. Just showing up wherever you please -- at whatever time you feel -- it chafes against all of Hux’s ingrained manners, but he will learn to adjust in time. He rolls onto his back and scrubs his hands over his face, revelling in the warm tangle of bedding that still holds the faint spicy scent of his bedmate. 

Hux lets his arms drop and releases a long, gusty sigh. His husband is  _ alive _ . A warring sensation of joy and hurt still curls in his belly over Jaedin’s halted attempts at an explanation. It’s been over three years since Antioch, since the wretched day Commander Harris had pulled Hux from his duties to inform him of the grim news. The moment is still vivid in his memory, the sensation of utter anguish consuming him under the neutral shell of an officer's decorum. Hux can recall thanking Harris for the information in a cool, even voice and requesting leave from his duties for the rest of the afternoon. Even back in his cramped quarters, he hadn’t broken down. That hadn’t happened until weeks after the incident.

Three hours after that breakdown, he’d turned in his request for transfer to the commander. The very next morning he’d been on a transport to Dromund Kaas, re-assigned to Imperial Intelligence. No one had bothered to talk him out of it.

Intelligence.

_ Intelligence. _

Hux explodes out of bed with a curse and lunges towards the holo-unit on the desk, barking out an order for lights. He immediately punches in Watcher Two’s comm code, praying she wasn’t already at work. Belatedly, he snatches up the sheet from the floor and has barely covered himself before the line goes live.

The holo image wavers for a moment then solidifies into her familiar face. Despite the early morning intrusion, she looks alert and only a little dishevelled. Like she’s just woken up. Perfect, not at work yet.

“Cipher Nine?”

“My apologies for my rude interruption, Watcher Two, but I must speak with you immediately.”

Her image shifts a little and the holo brightens as she moves into better lighting. Hux sees her eyes widen slightly before her expression falls neutral again.

“Of course, Agent. I am at your, um, disposal.” She pauses and furrows her brow slightly as she notices his state of undress. “Are you quite alright, sir?”

He ignores the embarrassed flush creeping across his chest and neck; thankfully it won’t translate over holo. “Yes, yes. Quite alright. Please forgive my impropriety, it was urgent I speak with you.”

“Apology accepted, sir. What can I help you with?”

Hux hesitates for a moment, trying to find an appropriate way to introduce the conversation. “My quarters, like the rest of the ship, are under surveillance, correct?”

“Correct,” she responds immediately, without any denial. “But in deference to your privacy, just audio. And the data is kept separate from the rest of the monitors. This is standard procedure for all Cipher operatives in the field.”

“Yes, of course. I understand.” Hux pauses and licks his lips nervously. “I must request a personal favour of you, Watcher Two.” He lowers his voice a little, adopting a more intimate tone. “Shara.” It’s a little cruel to leverage her interest -- however slight -- in him, but needs must.

He barely makes out the slight hitch in her breath at the use of her given name, but he notices her straighten her shoulders. “I cannot do anything that will jeopardize your mission, Agent. Or any other active Intelligence operation.”

“I promise it won’t.”

Her nostrils flare as she draws in a deep breath and holds it for a moment before releasing. “Fine. What is this favour?”

Hux gives her a thankful look and combs his fingers through his sleep mussed hair. “The last four hours of audio from my quarters are,” his cheeks grow hot as he gives her a sheepish glance from beneath his lashes, leaning into a bashful disposition to coax her onto his side. “Very private. I would be indebted to you if they could be removed from record.”

Watcher Two immediately looks uncomfortable. “Agent Huxley, I am unable to do that for you. My apologies, but my programming…”

_ You idiot, of course. She’s an augmented Watcher. _

His heart sinks and he gives her a weak, half smile. “No need to apologize, Watcher Two. I should never have put you into this position.” Inside, he’s kicking himself for forgetting about the surveillance. Jaedin’s life is on the line thanks to his complete ineptitude. While the Navy may not have the authority to sentence a Sith’s apprentice, having his identity logged in an Intelligence database isn’t going to do him any favours.

She glances away and bites her lower lip in a nervous tic. “While I am unable to delete the records, perhaps I can find another way to safeguard your… privacy. On one condition.”

Hux straightens up and nods eagerly. “Yes, of course. Anything.”

Watcher Two gives him a direct, no-nonsense look. “I cannot, in good faith, protect you without knowing why. I give you my oath as your Watcher and,” she pauses. “Your friend, that should I find no reason to otherwise report this information I  _ will _ re-route your audio subroutines somewhere safe.”

His stomach feels sour with nerves as Hux considers the offer. His intense desire for privacy, to keep Jaedin safe, to keep their reunion to himself is overwhelming. To have one thing that belongs to only them and isn’t just another line item in his file. But he’s not in any position to afford a private life; not now, not so soon after his promotion. It would take years to build that level of trust with Keeper. Right now Hux has to put his life in Watcher Two’s hands and believe that she will protect him. Nothing on that recording will impact his mission status, but it would --  _ should  _ \-- reflect a change in his personnel dossier. She will be required by regulation to list his relationship status and Jaedin’s name will raise flags as soon as it enters the system. A man presumed dead resurfacing years later will lead to investigation, could get back to the Navy, would change his status from KIA to deserter. Dangerous, even if just politically. 

Or it could lead nowhere. Jaedin is a Sith apprentice with a powerful master on the Dark Council. Surely that means he’s above repercussions from the Navy. Darth Jadus had certainly seemed confident that his actions were above any institution other than his own peers. He’s now dead, but that’s irrelevant. Terrorism, not bureaucracy, had killed him. 

And for the sake of his own future, Hux can’t afford to jeopardize his relationship with Intelligence. It’d only get him killed, or worse, put in Shadow Town with the likes of Watcher X. A cold chill shoots down his spine at the thought of wasting away in that hidden prison.

“I-I” he swallows hard and nods weakly. “I suppose you’re correct. Listen to the audio if you must, and all I request is that you inform me if there is anything that must be reported.”

She nods solemnly. “I will, sir. I promise.”

Hux straightens his posture and bearing as if he’s fully dressed and not wearing only a bed sheet, his voice shifting to his usual business-like tone. “Thank you, Watcher Two. Please forgive the interruption and I do apologize again for the indecency of my appearance. It shan’t happen again. I will contact you later with an update regarding the status of my mission here on Nar Shaddaa.”

“Acknowledged. Watcher Two out.” Her hologram flickers out.

  
  


Hux stares at the deactivated holo-unit for a few moments before setting it down on his desk and sinking heavily into a chair. He thrusts his fingers through his hair, tugging lightly as he tries to calm his racing heart. After a few minutes of wallowing, Hux pushes aside the swamp of emotions and rises to his feet.

He has work to do.

  
  


* * *

Jae’lyk takes a circuitous route through the spaceport before returning to his own private hangar. He's confident that no one has followed him, that no one even spotted him slipping through the corridors. The interior of the  _ Fury _ is cool and dim, the hum of the filtration system the only sound as his own companions sleep. 

Or so he thinks.

He’s nearly to his quarters when he hears a rustle of clothing and Vette’s amused voice. “Is this a walk of shame I’m witnessing? Or were you just out Sithing it up in the streets without us?”

Spinning on his heel, Jae’lyk finds her leaning back against the padded bench seat and gives her a dark look. “I needn’t explain my actions or whereabouts to the likes of you.”

She holds up her hands in a gesture of peace. “Whoa there. No need to bite my head off, boss.”

He’s grateful for the deep hood he still wears because Jae’lyk can feel heat creeping up his neck and he just  _ knows  _ his ears are turning red. Getting caught sneaking in after having sex -- with his secret husband -- is making him feel surprisingly vulnerable in a way he hadn’t thought he was capable of anymore. Covering his embarrassment with a scowl, he straightens to his full (albeit modest) height with his spine held stiffly. “What I do with my time is my own business. What are you even doing out here? I  _ thought _ I gave you quarters.”

Shifting a blanket further up her shoulders, Vette shrugs. “Couldn’t sleep. I think Quinn caught a cold or something, because he’s doing this really annoying nose whistle thing. I mean, it’s not really snoring? But almost worse? Hard to explain, you have to experience it for yourself.” She flashes a toothy grin. “In fact, I insist you experience it. I’ll take your room tonight, you bunk with Quinn.”

The Twi’lek girl has forgotten her place but it’s getting harder and harder to remind her of it these days, not that he’s ever really had a taste for cruelty. The one time he used the slave collar on her had been a calculated move, not wanting to appear weak at an inopportune time, and he’d removed her collar as soon as possible once they left Korriban. Shocking her would forever stand out on his long list of regrettable actions. He still felt guilty about it, especially after her ready acceptance of his very gruff and awkward apology. As frustrating as it could be to have an impertinent slave, her cheerful sarcasm is refreshing to have around on. Besides, Vette is a clever judge of character and intelligent enough to change her demeanour when appropriate so he's never been worried about drawing unwanted attention to their tentative friendship. In truth, he prefers her wry sense of humour to her cowed deference. Her acerbic tongue rather reminds him… of Alton. Perhaps that’s why he’s always let her get away with so much attitude. 

“I think not,” he says frostily, posting his fists on his hips and straightening his shoulders in a pose that usually works to intimidate people. Typically after he’s beaten them into submission. At least, it works on anyone but Vette.

Instead she just leans forward and squints a little in the low light, her brows drawing together in concentration. “What are you wearing?”

Confused by her question, Jae’lyk looks down to see his robe has fallen open enough to display the tunic below. The off-white much-too-large tunic that hangs halfway down his thighs; how he hadn’t noticed that on the way back is beyond him.

“Um.”

“Is your shirt on backwards? Is that even your shirt? I didn’t think you owned anything that wasn’t black.” Her voice is full of gentle teasing as a wide grin takes over her face. “Master, did you have a…” she lowers her voice and leans forward further to stage whisper in a conspiratorial tone. “Booty call? You can tell me, sir. I am your indebted servant in all things, my lord. You can trust me to hold your confidence.” Her eyes are positively glittering with excitement at the hint of gossip.

The flush that’s been flirting around his ears turns full force, colour staining his cheeks as his embarrassment mounts. She covers her mouth with one hand, stifling a giggle. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of, you know.”

The roil of his emotions overwhelms him and the embarrassment immediately turns quickly to anger. Jae’lyk flings a hand out with a lash of kinetic power to throw her back against her seat. “Enough!”

Whirling around, he stomps into his quarters and leaves her in stunned silence.

  
  
  


The moment his door seals behind him Jae’lyk begins undressing furiously. Taking care only with his lightsabers, the rest of his clothes fly around the room in a flurry of temper. A boot scatters a stack of datapads off his desk before thudding against the wall, the heavy weapons belt smashes against the small holo-unit on the shelf, a lamp teeters ominously under the weight of his trousers; none of it matters in his rage.  He’s left standing in the middle of the spartan room, naked except for the red and black flames licking his skin, the manifestation of his own anger. There is no heat to the flames as they crackle over his skin, a visual by-product of his surprisingly deep connection to the Force. For a brief moment he’s consumed by his fury, the grasp on his power stretching nearly threadbare. He feels like he’s holding on by his fingernails.

And just as quickly as the fury rose, it’s gone. The flames extinguish as his control snaps back into place and Jae’lyk forces the roiling anger back into submission. Shivering from the exertion and the cooling film of sweat covering his body, he purges his thoughts of anything other than breathing.

Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale.

His movements are stiff and jerky as he crosses the room and climbs into his narrow bed. The lights wink off and plunge the cabin into darkness, blankets pulled up over his ears as he curls in the middle of the pallet. Suddenly he’s freezing and shaking beneath his covers.

The depth of his fury  _ terrifies _ him.

In hindsight it's always been there, just under the surface of his skin. He’d been a quick tempered child and easy to rile as a young adult. His grandmother had called him a powder keg. Said there was too much spirit inside such a small body, a man twice his size always pushing to get out. Always small for his age, but driven to be better than everyone else; faster, stronger, smarter. He’d always assumed it was pride -- maybe envy -- pushing him to the limits and sometimes beyond.  But apparently it’d been the Force all along. 

Korriban taught him the Force feels different for everyone. He remembers one girl spinning a poetic image of a thorny plant that grew inside her, a sweet ache that pricked deep whenever it bloomed; another student likened it to plunging his hand into a fire and absorbing the heat rather than feeling his skin burn; a keen, but barely Force sensitive young man he’d met briefly during trials said the Force felt like tingling from touching the positive coils of energy cells.

Jae’lyk feels the Force like he’s plugged directly into a starship hyperdrive running hot.

And he’s afraid that if he ever truly let go, it will consume him until there is nothing left of his mortal body.

Huddled in his bed like a frightened child, he eventually starts to warm up and the tight ball of anger inside his chest begins to calm. The air is humid and turning stale with the blankets up over his face, but the action is a silly childhood comfort and as his body warms he can smell a faint woodsy scent lingering on his skin.

_ Alton. _

A spurt of giddy joy wriggles in his belly and Jae’lyk lets himself revel in it for a few moments. 

* * *

For nearly a decade Alton Huxley had been the only thing in his life he hadn’t had to fight to keep. As a young man just getting into the Academy and keeping his hard-won spot had been a continuous battle. He was small and serious and  _ differen _ _t_ from most of the others in his cohort. Low-born, from a rural northern tribe rather than a city family. His combative nature made him an easy target on purpose because he was always spoiling for a fight. Always defying the intimidation tactics from his classmates, refusing to be provoked but never backing down from a challenge, fighting constantly over the smallest slight to his honour. Charming and kind, Alton had only been one bright spot in those gruelling years. They had connected first as friends and realized quickly they were soulmates.  They'd married after graduation in a secret ceremony to keep the Huxley family from disowning their black sheep of a son. The small, isolated Ralyk tribe had been far too unimportant for Alton’s parents to ever consider their marriage a viable match; they had plans for the boy, after all. But despite it all, they’d been happy. The Navy didn’t care, had given them tiny shared quarters once the paperwork was processed, then it was business as usual.

And it had all been taken from him. Because of an incompetent fool, more concerned about his afternoon meal than the safety of the soldiers under his command.

After the Antioch massacre, after the Trials and Korriban, after leaving Jaedin Ralyk Junior Lieutenant 2nd class behind, he never thought they would be re-united. Alton had disappeared into the closed anonymity of Imperial Intelligence, and Jae’lyk couldn't reveal himself in case the Navy came after him.

The Imperial Navy took desertion very seriously.

But despite it all, they’d found each other again.

And Jae’lyk was  _ never  _ going to let him go.

  
  


* * *

Hours later his comlink buzzes against his side but he’s too busy using one of his lightsabers to carve a hole through a durasteel door, so he doesn’t check the message until later. When he does finally see it, Jae’lyk nearly deletes it because it reads like nonsense and he doesn’t recognize the sender. A series of numbers, what looks like a timestamp, followed by another number string.  His thumb hovers over the command button to erase it, but something causes him to pause.

_ 0325633 _

That part is familiar, but he can’t pin it down. Frowning, he turns to his companion and holds out the comlink.

“Does this make any sense to you?”

Vette turns toward him and tilts her head. “Hm? Oh, uh, let me see…” then she cranes her neck at a different angle as she studies the small screen and purses her lips in thought for a few moments. “Coordinates.”

Jae’lyk frowns and takes another look. “Coordinates to what?”

“Looks like a casino down in the Nikto District. The one that's half a klick past Exchange territory.”

He gives her a skeptical look. “How the kriff do you know that?”

She shrugs. “Been there before.” Vette rolls her eyes when he continues to stare. “I’ve been all over this moon, you know. Pirate adventurer, remember?” She taps the side of her head. “Also super good at memorizing maps and things like that?”

“Right, of course. How could I forget,” he says dryly. Jae'lyk checks the timestamp again, flipping his gauntlet back enough to see his chronometer. Within the hour.

“Why are we heading down there? Another lead?” she bounces a little on her heels, her lekku twitching with the movement. She looks excited; then again, she usually does anytime they’re off the ship.

“I’m not sure.” That last number. What was the significance of…

_ Oh. _

0325633 had been Alton’s cadet number at the Academy.

Jae’lyk shoves the comlink back into his pocket. “No, I must do this alone. I need you to rendezvous with Quinn and assist him with locating Dellocan’s communication records. I want him found before he burrows even further underground, and he is too clever to miss my presence in that sector. The two of you should have more success without me.”

“Maybe it’s because you use your lightsaber to cut new doors instead of knocking.”

He doesn’t rise to her teasing comment, too busy straightening his clothes and unconsciously fussing with his appearance. “Go.”

Vette gives him a curious look, but nods her head respectfully. “Of course. Letting Quinn wander these streets alone will just get him into trouble anyway. Dude really needs to stop wearing his uniform in gang territory.” She rummages in the satchel at her side and pulls out a pair of medpacks. “Here, just in case.”

He gives her a flat look but takes them anyway. Jae’lyk isn’t foolish enough to ignore how instrumental she’s been in keeping him alive during tight situations. Sometimes when he’s being consumed by his baser emotions it’s difficult to take note of his own safety. A Sith marauder in full berserk can ignore even the most mortal wounds until it’s too late. But unlike some of his former colleagues on Korriban, he'd been a soldier first and was well aware of his own fragile mortality.  


“Off you go. I will contact you later for an update.”  He waits until she grabs a taxi destined for the spaceport, then flips his hood up and disappears into the depths of Nar Shaddaa.

  
  


* * *

Jae’lyk receives another message when he’s just a few minutes away from the casino, another number that he assumes is a private room. Slipping into the raucous establishment unnoticed is child’s play; he’s a dark shadow ghosting through the crowd as he makes his way up the backstairs to the closed suites.

Pausing in front of room 302, he shifts his robe aside to rest his hand on the pommel of one lightsaber before pressing the other against the thin durasteel door. A single life form flickers against his Force probe, but he’d be the first to admit that he isn’t the best at using the Force in these ways. On Korriban his training had been lacking in the less martial arts once his Master discovered his aptitude for battle and his Trials had been rushed to completion. But despite his uncertainty of the room’s occupants he is relatively sure of his ability to defend himself against whomever might be waiting inside if this ends up as an elaborate trap. He raps his knuckles lightly against the door. A brief delay on the latch release and Jae’lyk slips inside the room when it finally clicks open. 

Across the room Alton -- dressed like a grubby communications technician -- drops his hand from the blaster at his thigh and cracks a lopsided smile. “You came. I wasn’t sure you received the message.”

Locking the door behind him, Jae’lyk snorts a laugh and flips his hood back. “Just because I’m not some top covert agent doesn’t mean I can’t figure out a basic number cipher.”

Alton gives him a look of amused disbelief as he unfastens the heavy coveralls he’s wearing over a plain grey singlet and stretchy black undershorts. “I didn’t realize they taught you so much at Sith school, my dear. I shall have to update my notes with this new information.”

Taking in his husband’s state of undress Jae’lyk doesn’t hesitate to unbuckle his heavy outer layers and drape them on a low table near the door. He’s still working on his weapon belts when Alton steps out of his own boots and crosses the room in two long strides. His hands come up to cup Jae’lyk’s jaw as his mouth descends hungrily.  The kiss is deep and long enough they had to pull apart to gasp for air. This close Jae’lyk can see the faint green ring around Alton’s brown irises and can count the faded spray of freckles across the bridge of his hawkish nose. Done with the last belt, his own hands come up to circle the taller man’s wrists loosely.  “Your interrogation methods are superb, because I feel compelled to tell you that I didn’t figure out the code at all,” Jae’lyk murmurs in a low, warm voice. “I had no idea they were coordinates. Vette had to tell me.”

Alton grins against his mouth and kisses him again. “I knew it.” And his hands drop to help his husband continue undressing.   


Somehow Jae’lyk ends up with his shoulders against the wall and Alton on his knees before him, his mouth sucking up marks against the sensitive skin over his hip bone. Swallowing a groan Jae’lyk thrusts his fingers into the other man’s hair, his nails digging into his scalp slightly. Alton shivers at the sensation and scrapes his teeth over the bruise he’s made before letting Jae’lyk force his head lower.  The feeling of Alton’s mouth around his cock is both familiar and magnificently new all at the same time; thanks to his burgeoning Force senses, Jae’lyk can  _ feel _ how much Alton is enjoying this. Hot and wet, a kiss of teeth, Jae’lyk cants his hips forward to get deeper, his grip on the back of Alton’s head steadily pressing him closer. He stares down with a hooded gaze beyond the heaving of his own chest as Alton’s eyes flutter shut, his cheeks flushed with pleasure. Countless iterations of this same scenario paint themselves across Jae’lyk’s eyelids like a flipbook when he closes his eyes and lets out a low groan. He moves his hand enough to press his fingertip under the hinge of Alton’s jaw, causing the other man to open his mouth a little more, a moan gurgling from his throat. Perfect. So perfect.

He has to lock his knees to keep his feet beneath him when he finally comes with the feeling of Alton’s silky hair clasped between his fingers.

After catching his breath Jae’lyk returns the favour -- albeit with more application of teeth to stretches of pale skin. Alton nearly comes from the biting alone, so Jae’lyk barely has his mouth on him before his lanky body is shuddering into orgasm. He leaves a tender mark on the inside of Alton’s upper thigh that he’ll be feeling for days and makes his husband whimper.

* * *

Half-dressed, they sprawl against each other on the low couch and are determined to ignore the pressures of the outside world just a little longer. Alton breaks first. His fingers trail along a ruddy scar near Jae’lyk’s spine, then he stretches with a groan.  “Intelligence knows about last night,” he murmurs, settling back into the couch with a sigh. “I lost my head and forgot my quarters are monitored.”

Jae’lyk is still as he mulls over the new information. “I see.”

Alton presses a kiss to the tuft of hair that hang over his forehead. “I’m sorry.”

The smaller man gives him a quick squeeze of the ribs. “It’s okay. I’ll be fine.”

Turning his head to rest his cheek against Jae’lyk’s warm skull, Alton nods. “I had my Watcher deal with the recordings. She wasn’t able to remove them from record, but they have been well hidden where few people can access. But she was required to update my personnel file with this new information.”

Jae’lyk hums and shifts to rest his chin against Alton’s breastbone, his dark eyes still lazy and hooded. “And what information is that?”

Drawing his fingers through Jae’lyk’s short hair, Alton studies the tattoo on his husband’s face. “That I am married to a Sith apprenticed to Darth Baras. She was able to avoid your real name thanks to the Dark Council’s traditions of assuming new identities upon joining the Order.”

His eyes close briefly as his brow furrows slightly. “Jae’lyk is my real name now.”

The stroking fingers halt for a moment, before continuing again. “My apologies, I called you Jaedin early. I’m afraid it will be a hard habit to break, love.”

Jae’lyk hums an ambiguous sound. “I’m pretty sure I was too busy to notice.”

“I can’t promise to get better quickly,” Alton says honestly. “You were my Jaedin for a long time.”

“Perhaps just Jae when we’re alone then.”

“I can do that.”

  
  


An hour later, they dress while exchanging lazy kisses and discuss how feasible future encounters will be once their respective missions take them apart again. Alton presses a nondescript comlink into Jae’lyk’s hand: an untraceable anonymous device, any communication guaranteed to remain encrypted and secure for at least fifteen minutes of uninterrupted conversation. 

They part on high hopes and one last lingering kiss. 

  
  


* * *

The next forty hours are in a blur of activity and Hux barely has a moment to eat, let alone sleep. Between Watcher X’s wild goose chase through VerveGen’s holdings and dismantling the Eagle’s communications hub in the Lower Industrial district, he and Kaliyo have been moving non-stop. Fatigue burns behind his eyes and the incision Watcher X made in his back itches furiously; he still isn’t sure if letting the madman insert scrambler circuitry into his body was a wise decision. But what’s done is done.

Hux sits at the long table in the conference area slumped over a scatter of datapads, Kaliyo curled up sleeping on the bench in the corner. He sighs and scrapes his hand over the stubble on his jaw, trying to find another reserve of energy somewhere beneath the last one he’d already used up to finish… any of this pile of work. His leg begins to vibrate and it takes Hux half a minute to realize it’s the comlink paired to the one he’d given Jae.  Hux slides out from behind the table, fumbling in his pocket as he crosses the ship quickly to slip into his quarters. “Hello?”

“Am I interrupting?” Jae’s voice is tinted with amusement amidst the faint static of the encrypted line. “You sound out of breath.”

“What? Oh, no. Just… paperwork. Hi.” Hux sits heavily on the edge of his desk and smiles a little. “What’s up?”

“I just called to tell you I’m headed off world. Baras has me set for Tatooine now that I’ve finished up here.”

The hopeful little flutter that they might get another chance to meet up dies with a flash of disappointment. “Oh.” He clears his throat and tries for a more teasing tone. “You’re going to really love that place, trust me.”

“Funny. It’s a giant desert,” Jae’lyk responds dryly. 

Grinning, Hux continues. “The heat, the sand, the air so dry it sucks the spit from your mouth. Paradise.”

A low chuckle crackles across the line. “Enough out of you. I’m leaving shortly, as soon as the tower gives clearance, but I shouldn’t be too long planet-side. Maybe if you have some time after your assignment you could drop by the Fleet for a few days?”

The Imperial Fleet is a frequent stopover for most agents and staying a day or two wouldn’t be unusual in his ship’s logs. Hux tries to figure out how much longer he’d be on Nar Shaddaa, but it just makes his head ache. “I can probably do that. Six, maybe seven days?”

“Yes, that should work. Contact me when you get close, Baras has private quarters I’m permitted to use.”

There’s a pause of dead, staticky air before Hux speaks again. “Be careful, Jae.”

A faint snort answers him. “Says the secret agent. I’ll be careful if you’re careful.”

“Deal. Love you.”

“Love you too.”

  
  


And the comlink goes dead in Hux’s hand.  He stays perched on the hard edge of the desk for a few minutes staring blindly at the device in his hand, and tries to decide if he has the time to take a nap. Or shower. Or eat.

Shower. Then eat. Then sleep.

Then dismantle a terrorist cell before they can mobilize a sleeper cell of stim’d up super soldiers intent on mass hysteria and murder.

Easy, right?

  
  



End file.
